Rewind
by Ky Anna Rose
Summary: While on a mission, an 084 steals the team's memories. Set somewhere between 2x05 and 2x06
1. Chapter 1

**AN:** Please note that this is set between 2x05 and 2x06. Simmons is back from Hydra but Ward is still locked up.

* * *

><p>This was the mission: The retrieval of an 084 in Hydra possession.<p>

It went off easily enough: May and Skye infiltrated the base. Ward was locked in the Cage, giving them Hydra intel that they only half-trusted. Coulson directed the operation. Simmons and Fitz monitored the 084 once it had been retrieved. Trip, Bobbi and Hunter were back at SHIELD headquarters following up leads on Whitehall and tracking Raina.

The mission itself was nothing. It was a beginning and an ending folded together seamlessly, a paragraph in the story of their lives that would have no effect on any that followed.

Or at least, that's what they thought.

They forgot the 084.

...

This is how it begins.

...

The 084 sits under the glaring lights of their lab in the Bus, shining and metallic. Simmons and Fitz are working silently on it, taking readings, testing its properties.

Jemma looks clinical and detached, but the tight press of her lips gives her away every time she stands next to Fitz and he averts his eyes, every time she stops herself from completing his mumbled thoughts.

Every time, it hurts.

It hurts, so she pushes it down and folds it away, where no one can see. She is a scientist, and scientists do not let emotions ruin their work.

She looks on as Fitz tests the metal for unknown elements, watching as he thoughtlessly passes the probe to his bad hand, the one that he can never keep steady, not since -

Before, she would have jumped forward almost immediately to wrench it out of his hands.

Before, she would not have hesitated.

But Fitz doesn't want her anywhere near him now, and that gives her just a second's pause.

As it turns out, a second is all it takes.

The probe falls-

(as she reaches out)

-right onto the 084 -

(too late, she thinks as she watches)

-as a spark blossoms from the metal and -

(her hand reaches Fitz's right as the world turns to)

-nothing.

...

Skye wakes up to May hammering on the door of her bunk.

"What?!" she half-groans-half-yells. Her head is _killing_ her.

"There's been an incident in the lab," May says brusquely and Skye hears her walk away, probably to tell Ward.

Skye's heart drops. An incident in the lab? _Shit_. She hopes Fitz and Simmons are alright.

She hops up from her bed and then violently curses as her ribs scream in protest. Her black top lifts up to reveal a purpling bruise.

Huh.

Weird.

She doesn't remember getting that.

After gingerly poking it, Skye pulls out a plaid shirt from her drawer and edges it on, trying not to aggravate the suddenly numerous sore spots across her body. Then she walks down to the lab.

Coulson and May are already there along with Fitz and Simmons.

"I don't exactly know, Sir," Simmons is saying, "It just sort of flashed, but it's definitely not bioluminescence because Fitz and I ascertained that it's not alive-"

"Yeah," Fitz adds on, and Skye frowns because he looks just a little different than how he did a few hours ago. "We think the um, fluctuating electric pulse is just coming from uh, a-"

"A finely tuned nuclear power source, Sir." Simmons finishes off, shooting a slightly worried glance at Fitz.

Skye's frown deepens because since when has Simmons' hair been so _short_?

Simmons sees her then, and opens her mouth to say hello in that endearingly British way of hers-

"How did you cut your hair?" Skye blurts out.

Simmons' expression turns confused as her hands go to her head. Fitz blinks, his mouth opening a little as he takes in his lab partner's new hairstyle seemingly for the first time.

"Jemma, don't tell me that you chopped it all off again like at the Academy."

Simmons grimaces slightly, panic creeping into her tone. "No of course not, Fitz. I didn't cut it at all!"

"Well it's short now," Skye says bluntly. "I gotta say, it kinda suits you."

"Oh. Well... Thank you. But I must say, this is a terrible prank. I know it wasn't you, because you've got a fringe now, but perhaps we should draw the line at personal appearance?"

"I have a what?"

"Enough." May says, her face unreadable. She turns back to Simmons. "Are you sure the 084 didn't do any real damage?"

It takes a second for Simmons to refocus, but then she's nodding. "I can't completely guarantee it, but it seems like the emission had no effects."

May nods once and then heads up the stairs back to the cockpit.

Coulson lingers a moment longer. "You're both fine?"

Simmons meets his gaze levelly. "Perfect, Sir."

Skye watches AC go before turning back to her friend.

"Seriously. You're saying I have bangs?"

"You do, Skye. They look quite nice, actually."

"I need a mirror," she mutters, but her thoughts - which primarily consist of a balance between _Ward did this _and _No he couldn't have he's too much of a bore_ - are interrupted by Fitz.

Skye turns to look at him and pales.

The scientist is leaning against the holotable, pinching the bridge of his nose. His eyes are squeezed shut and one hand is trembling violently against the glass as he mutters incoherently.

Something is very, very wrong.

...

Words.

Jumbled.

Everything's such a...

Such a _mess_.

His hand scrabbles against the glass.

There is so much confusion inside his head, so many twists and dead ends and missing _things_ (he can't even remember what they are, what they used to be, they're just _gone_) that he swears weren't there only a minute ago.

"Fitz? Jemma says softly, her voice jarring, and he swears he's drowning, his lungs filling with water and he can't breathe_ he can't breathe_.

"Fitz!" Jemma shouts, panicked. His face breaks through the water and he sucks in mouthfuls of air.

He opens his eyes to find that he's doubled over, panting like he just tried to run the Academy course.

"I'm fine," he mumbles.

_What's happening to me?_

"No, you're not," Skye says curtly, and the harshness of her tone betrays how worried she is.

A bright light shines in his eyes and Simmons tilts his head up.

"What's the partial derivative of gravitational potential?"

"That's bloody high school math!"

"Well?"

"Gravitational int.. " he can't find the word. He knows what the answer is, but he just can't find the _word_.

He finds it at the same instant Simmons says it, so their utterance of 'intensity' comes out in her quiet realization and his triumphant exclamation at the same time.

They stare at each other for a few moments before Skye voices what all three of them are thinking.

"What the _hell_ did that 084 do?"


	2. Chapter 2

It's funny, isn't it? What you can forget.

You forget what you had for breakfast five days ago. You forget where you keep leaving that pen. Little pieces of your life, you keep on forgetting, keep on leaving behind on the path you tread.

And these little things? They are compartments in our lives. Either they annoy us or don't bother us. Rarely do they _matter_. Rarely do these compartments burst open and let the memory of what has been forgotten flood the future of what is.

But sometimes, they do.

Of course, having an 084 on hand always helps.

...

Grant Ward wakes up in the dark.

It doesn't bother him. In fact, he's used to it. Nonetheless, being unable to see his surroundings is unsettling. He slowly starts to his feet, but is stopped by something on his hands.

Handcuffs.

He examines them. They're regular ones, not the heavy-duty type, so he shouldn't have too much of a problem getting out of them if he needs to. The question is: how did he get _into_ them?

For a moment, Ward thinks that his cover has been blown and May tranqed him, but quickly discards the idea. His cover is secure.

Second option: An unknown party boarded the plane and took the team out, capturing him for interrogation.

Fear fills him before he can push it down. It's not for himself, though and this fact takes a few seconds to sink in.

_Shit_.

Garrett told him not to get attached.

He sits back down and tries to organise his thoughts, blinking as he sorts everything out, trying to get his eyes to adjust faster.

The last thing he remembers: The Guest House. Garrett finally found a decent lead on the miracle drug and Skye is now _safe_.

(_Is it a weakness?_ Garrett asks as he watches Ward stare at her. He shakes his head.)

Where is he now? No idea.

Wait-

His back is pressing against the wall, and it is not cold, hard concrete.

It is a familiar honeycombed pattern.

He's in the Cage.

That can only mean one thing -

_No_, he thinks (Weak, weak, _weak_).

Maybe it's a mistake.

Maybe he hasn't been discovered, hasn't failed the only person who looked out for him.

(Maybe Skye hasn't found out.)

The logical part of his mind prepares to play the innocent, dumb S.H.I.E.L.D. agent while simultaneously planning out six different methods of escape.

The rest of his mind does... nothing.

The rest of him ceases to exist.

...

May is going back down to the lab.

There is something very, very wrong.

Before Fitzsimmons had their little accident, it was late at night.

Now, five minutes later, it is midday.

Coulson walks behind her. "Are you sure? I could swear it was sometime in the evening."

She doesn't deign that with a response, just looks at him with an eyebrow raised. She was the one in the cockpit, not buried in paperwork.

Sometimes, she thinks Phil wouldn't know oranges from apples if one of them wasn't the colour of a particular Avenger's shield.

(Or maybe, this affected sense of time is a side effect of the GH325. She'll have to check with Fury.)

When they enter the lab, May's first impression is that the science duo have caught onto the fact that something's wrong.

It takes her a split second of observation to see that it's much, much more than that.

Fitz seems to be recovering from a panic attack. Simmons hovers over him while Skye talks worriedly in the background.

"Should I get some tea? I mean, you guys like that don't you? And maybe it could help..."

Simmons notices May and Coulson first, stepping away from Fitz reluctantly.

"What happened?" Coulson asks her.

"It seems the 084 affected Fitz," she replies, and Melinda and see the effort with which the girl is holding herself together, keeping the smile on her face. "He's having trouble recalling certain words and one of his hands seems to be slightly atrophied. It's almost like -"

"Hypoxia," Fitz finishes, looking at his shoes. "We dunno if -"

"It's reversible."

May doesn't say anything for a few heartbeats.

Coulson steps in instead. "I'm sure you both will figure it out. Fitz, if you're not up to it, you can -"

"No."

May doesn't outwardly show her surprise, but she's still slightly taken aback. Fitz interrupting Coulson? The scientist goes up in her esteem a few notches.

The scientist in question colours, going back to staring at his feet. "I meant no, sir. I'm staying."

Coulson doesn't push it. "Fine. As long as you're okay with it. May and I came down here because we noticed a time discrepancy. It seems to be midday, and I'm pretty sure it wasn't before the 084 acted out."

"No way," Skye breathes after a few seconds during which all three inhabitants of the lab stare at him, confused. "Guys. It _was_. I checked on my laptop before taking a nap."

May ignores her, eyeing Fitzsimmons. "What time did you think it was?"

"Early morning," they both say in tandem.

There is a moment of dead silence.

Coulson breaks it. "Anyone have an idea of what's going on?"

Simmons takes a breath. "I think - and this is just a guess, sir - that the 084 may have caused us all to lose a few hours' worth of memory."

"We were, um, closest," Fitz continues theorizing, "So we lost the most."

"Then Skye, who remembers until midday."

"Then me," Coulson says. "I thought it was evening."

They turn to May. "Check the date," she tells them, looking at the holotable. A horrible feeling starts gnawing at her as she takes in the numbers glowing faintly on its side.

They do.

Skye's eyes widen. "What the f-"

Simmons drops her light and it clangs on the tiled floor.

Fitz closes in on the holotable, his expression unbelieving.

No one says anything more for a while.

"We should, um, compare memories," Fitz suggests finally. "To see how much we forgot."

Simmons nods. "I'll start." She looks at Skye as she says, "Fitz and Ward had just come back from Overkill."

Skye nods, biting her lip. "Yeah I remember that."

"I'm almost the same," Fitz puts in. "You were telling me something about shooting a senior agent yesterday."

Coulson turns to Skye.

The girl grimaces "We had just let that freaky Asguardian professor go."

May nods. "We arrested Donnie Gill a couple of days ago."

Only Coulson seems to understand what she's talking about. "I'm a couple of weeks after that. So as of now, I've lost the least. Now we just have to find Ward and see how far back he's gone."

May turns to Skye. "Pull up the video feeds and find him as fast as you can."

Skye walks over to the screens and starts tapping. In the few seconds before the feeds come online, May and Coulson share a worried glance and Fitzsimmons talk in hushed tones.

Then: "You need to see this," Skye whispers.

May looks up, and for the first time in months lets shock seep through her mask onto her face.

Ward is in the Cage.

There are only two people who could have put him there.

And both of them are standing in this lab.


	3. Chapter 3

Group projects, as a general rule, suck.

They are unbalanced. One person broods unhelpfully in a corner. Another throws up improbable suggestions. A third person - and this one is important - looks around, heaves an exasperated sigh and starts doing the work.

Consequently, it's easy to throw everything off in three easy steps.

1. Lock aforementioned key person in airtight container

2. Throw said container into the middle of the ocean

3. Inject self with suspiciously-derived alien-origin goo

Now, provided you are not immediately overcome by dreams of world-domination, your rival group project is sure to succeed.

A team, on the other hand...

A team is different people doing different things with each other at different times, and despite all these differences forming an indestructible whole. A team is comes together in the tenuous connections that stretch from person to person, strengthening and growing and branching with every shared moment of life until they have the strength of steel.

As I'm sure you're aware, steel is much harder to break.

...

Simmons watches as Skye sweeps through the Bus database, marveling at the sheer amount of information that is pouring down on her – on all of them.

Hydra. The fall of S.H.I.E.L.D. Fury's death.

Skye's fingers falter as she pulls up the next document and it only takes Simmons a millisecond to figure out why.

Director Coulson, it is signed.

_Director_.

Behind her, she hears May draw in a breath.

But that's only the tip of the iceberg.

The document is about her. About Jemma Simmons. About how she will quietly, skilfully assimilate herself into Hydra's ranks for useful information, leaving the morning after the document is dated.

It is also about the fact that by her own request, she will stay away for the duration of Leopold Fitz's recovery from near-drowning.

_Oh, Fitz. _

It _was_ hypoxia.

That explains his difficulty in finding words - anomic aphasia probably; the slight trembling of his hand may be due to muscle atrophy. Simmons has studied the topic, pored over a case or two in her pre-field medicine course.

She never imagined it would happen to one of them.

But then, no one ever does.

And as much as she wishes it were so, that world-changing piece of information isn't what affects her the most. The worst bit is the fact that she left him _voluntarily_. Jemma abandoned her best friend when he needed her most, because what – because she couldn't handle it? Because she couldn't handle seeing him stumble through words he used to race through, couldn't handle his frustration as no one saw that he was still the same underneath?

If that is the reason, she's ashamed of herself.

She turns to him, and the first thing she thinks is - how could she have not noticed it before? Fitz is older, darker, war-worn. The circles beneath his eyes speak of more than just exhaustion and the untidiness of his clothes is more than just absentmindedness.

Simmons sees all the ways her Fitz is different from the person he becomes and wonders if the distance between the two is her doing.

…

Coulson is trying – and failing – to process all the information on the screens.

Fury's death hits hard, but the fact that S.H.I.E.L.D. no longer exists is even worse. The news that he's director makes him lean against the holotable for support.

He watches as Skye similarly gapes at the reveal for a few seconds before resuming her rapid typing and quickly coming up against a brick wall. _Classified_, it says on the screen in bold black letters.

"A.C., a little help here? You'd know the password."

Coulson still hasn't entirely gotten past the processing stage yet, so May steps in.

"Can't you get past the security protocols?"

Skye gives a rueful shrug. "If you want to wait another ten minutes. Apparently, I've upgraded."

Coulson snaps out of it. He steps forward, typing in the password.

Peering over his shoulder, Skye snorts.

"Seriously? The best you could come up with is –"

He's saved some slight – and okay, _slight_ may be an understatement – embarrassment by the blaring of a digital alarm.

Skye curses and brushes past him, stopping the ear-splitting noise with a few deft strokes before turning back around. "You've changed your password. Hmph. I should have guessed that. You'll have to wait a bit more for the classified data now, though I still don't get why we can't just go into the Cage and ask Ward how much he remembers."

Out of the corner of his eye, Coulson sees May heave an imperceptible sigh.

He grimaces. "Skye, we've gone through this before. Only May or I could have put him in there, and he's obviously been in there for a long time." He gestures to the camera feed from the Cage. "We need to find out why."

Skye stares at him with an unreadable expression before giving a short nod. "Got it. Let me get my laptop, I might have something on it that could cut the hacking time down to under a minute."

He shrugs. "You're the expert in this area."

"Yep."

She slips out and Fitzsimmons take the opportunity to excuse themselves, leaving him alone with May. He lets the uneasy silence continue for a moment before speaking, not taking his eyes off the few dozen documents spread across the screen.

"I saw that you were in contact with Fury."

She returns his gaze steadily. "I was."

"Why?"

"I was monitoring you. Seeing if the program used to revive you had any adverse side effects."

"Did it?"

"Not as far as I know. If we found out afterwards, it'd be in these classified files."

He takes a minute to absorb the information before going back to studying a file on an Agent Antoine Triplett. The face looks vaguely familiar, but beyond that nothing rings a bell.

Beside him, May stiffens.

"_Phil_."

He follows her gaze to the screen that shows Ward.

Someone is opening the door to the Cage.

…

Yes, Skye _knows_ that this is a stupid idea. An insane idea. Maybe one of the worst ideas she's had since she decided to send Simmons in undercover at the Hub, but _come on_.

This is _Ward_, dammit.

Grant Ward is boring, slightly socially inept, and okay – maybe a little hot, but he is in no way dangerous.

Well… he's only dangerous to his enemies. He's not dangerous to S.H.I.E.L.D.

To _her_.

She breaks through the flimsy security on the door within seconds and creaks it open, studying what she can see of his face. He's blinking at the sudden light at first; his stance is defensive as he tries to make out the figure at the door. As his eyes adjust she sees a myriad of expressions flash across his face. The beginnings of a smile as he catches sight of her. The same impassiveness that she's come to think of as his default mode. And there is a glimpse of something else – it looks like wariness, or maybe even fear but it's gone almost as soon as she sees it.

"Skye."

He makes her name into both a greeting and a question, and she can't help but let a smile slip her face.

"Hey, Robot. Long time no see."


	4. Chapter 4

You are not the _you_ you were.

Do you believe that?

Maybe you do. Maybe you recognise the differences between the person reading these words and the person who sat down in front of a computer one day and decided to explore.

Or maybe you don't.

Either way, they're still there.

You say 'yes' where you used to say 'no' before. Your thoughts follow new paths. You are quieter, noisier, wiser, sadder, a hundred little differences that add up into someone whose sum is the whole of different parts.

And if the parts are different, so is the person.

So, yes.

You are not the you you were.

But maybe the parts just _look_ different, maybe they've been painted over so the wold sees something new while underneath it's just you, trying on different colours, seeing which one the world likes best.

Maybe it's like a mask. And everyday, when you go to work-school-life you slip it on and become the person everyone sees. And you are not the mask, but the mask is of your own making.

But - you know the problem with these types of masks?

They tend to stick.

…

They are outside the Bus med pod, Fitz leaning on the wall and Simmons standing in the corridor, almost hunched over herself. The news on the screens has added to the jumble in Fitz's mind and he is finding it increasingly hard to pull words out of the mess.

"Simmons?"

"Yes, Fitz?"

He hates asking this, but he has to make sure, has to make sense out of a world that's suddenly been thrown off-kilter. "D' you, um, have any idea why you left?"

"No." Her voice is small, unsure.

She's too quiet, too shaken by what she saw. She can't be taking so much guilt on herself, not when it's weighing down on him.

"Maybe it was my fault," he offers.

"Oh, no Fitz – I'm sure it wasn't –"

"I was probably a right old grouch." He ploughs on. "I mean, maybe a bit more than usual, if I wasn't getting better as fast as I wanted. And I must've been worrying you no end. It would've been hell for th' both of us. And I know how much getting... um, getting leverage on Hydra must've meant to you afterwards. I don't blame you for going."

He flinches at the stormy expression that's overtaken her face.

"Oh, don't tell me you think I left because you were _mean_!? Because, really Fitz – that's ridiculous. Do you really think I would have left you for as little as that? I know how much these things take time. Maybe I slowed down your recovery by going. Maybe I made it _worse. _Who knows – I can't _remember_! "

Her mouth twists as she finishes and she glares at the floor for a few seconds.

"I didn't mean that," he says, fumbling, trying not to meet her eyes. Instead he examines his bad hand. It's odd. His muscles are used to its tremors, automatically adjusting to make it steadier, but he can't remember it ever being so shaky. Even his walk is slightly different, something he only noticed when Simmons had to slow down to stay at his side – his steps are shorter now.

She raises her gaze to his and looks at him, asking _what did you mean then?_ and _how could I do something like this?_

"Maybe you're just… ah, judging yourself too harshly."

She gives a short huff at that, somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

He knows it's the closest either of them is going to get to the former in the foreseeable future.

…

Ward almost thinks that this could be a good day.

Because Skye is here.

Smiling at him.

There's no trace of a wound on her, no clue that only days ago she was fighting for her life in a S.H.I.E.L.D hospital, her chances of surviving dwindling with each passing hour.

The GH-325 worked.

(It'll work on Garrett too then, Ward thinks. And he'll be able to get away from these people, this little team that seems intent on finding their way beneath his armour. He'll keep an eye on her from a distance then, where she's far from the poison that he brings into people's lives.)

Remembering the handcuffs, he keeps sitting.

But he can't stop himself from drawing in a breath.

"Skye."

"Hey, robot." She drawls. "Long time no see." She grins, but there's something tight about it, something different about the more wary stance that her body naturally relaxes into. Her hair is shorter and flicks of it frame her face, making her look older.

She nearly died, Ward reminds himself, dismissing the differences.

It would change anyone.

"You're up to walking now?"

She frowns. "Why wouldn't I be?"

He sits back, understanding. "Simmons finally let you out."

Her eyebrows shoot up her forehead. "Ookay. I'm filing that for later. Do you remember why you're in here?"

He tenses. This is what it all hinges on. Either his cover has been blown or it hasn't. If it's gone, he'll have to get past Skye and down to the cargo bay to get out. If it hasn't – there's an unexpected variable at play that somehow accounts for him being locked up.

Unlikely, yes. And luck has never been on Ward's side before.

But he still hopes.

He thought May would come if anyone had to interrogate him. She's the one with field experience at it.

(Or maybe they realise that he won't – _can't_ – hurt Skye and sent her in to throw him off.)

"I don't have a clue." He answers.

She nods, biting her lip. "What's the last thing you remember?"

The line of questioning is confusing him – this is no way to get Hydra intel from a suspected traitor – but he plays along.

"I was at the punching bag outside the lab."

"That doesn't help, Ward. You're there every day. Give me a major event."

"You woke up yesterday."

"Woke up? From what?"

"From… getting shot."

"You're kidding me."

Ward frowns, muted panic running through him. She doesn't remember. Has she forgotten because of the GH-325? Is this a side effect?

"You don't remember?"

"No. None of us do." She answers distractedly. "Where was I shot?"

Ward gestures as best as he can with the handcuffs at his own abdomen. "What do you mean no one remembers?"

"There's an 084 on board that caused us to lose a few months' worth of memories each." She tells him the date, fingering the hem of her shirt as if considering lifting it up the see the freshly sewn-over wounds.

"_Months_," he breathes. He believes it because it's _her_ and because it accounts for the differences he noticed in her – the differences he can feel himself. There's a scar on his foot that rubs with every movement and a dull ache in his ribs along with a small line of pain – a stitched up wound probably. He had registered them before, but brushed them off as unimportant.

"So why am I here?"

She shrugs, smiling softly. "Dunno. But I thought I'd check up on you. You look like you've been in a cell for a while."

He gives her a small smile in return, struggling to remain nonchalant. "Why do you say that?"

"Have you seen your face?" She retorts, before changing tack. "Who shot me?"

He tries to process the information as he opens his mouth to say, "Ian Qu-"

The door bursts open.

May reaches inside, her gun – _not_ an icer – trained on Ward, pulling Skye out as the younger girl indignantly protests. She steps in and shuts the door behind her, never bringing the weapon down.

Time's up, he thinks, noting the anger in her eyes. They've found out.

No more games.

No more pretending.

Ward returns May's glare levelly, putting his hands into position and rubbing the joint in his thumb.


End file.
